To one side Old Bear stepped out from dense brush and cocked his head to examine the woods. He shouted back: ‘Is that a young cub come to receive yet another lesson?’
A figure emerged, tall and lanky, and loped down from among the trunks. Orman had the impression of the relaxed bounding of a wolf. The fellow closed on them, his grin exposing prominent teeth in a long jaw. Kinked brown hair blew about his head. He wore leathers that had seen hard use, and tall moccasins climbed to his knees. A longsword and two fighting dirks hung at his waist.
He and Old Bear embraced. ‘What about that lesson then?’ Old Bear rumbled.
‘Your heart would burst, I fear.’
‘What brings you to Sayer lands?’
The fellow glanced to Orman, or, more precisely, to the weapon in his grip. ‘News.’
Old Bear followed the man’s glance, then gestured to where one of the Reddin brothers was closing. ‘Kasson,’ he said, then of the other: ‘Keth.’ So, it’s Keth in the sheepskin leggings, Orman told himself. Old Bear gestured to him: ‘Orman Bregin’s son. And the last one is named Gerrun.’
‘He must be the one trying to get behind me,’ the young man said, grinning all the more.
Old Bear let out a long-suffering sigh, waved to the trees. ‘Get in here, Gerrun!’
The newcomer glanced again to Boarstooth. ‘So it is true.’
‘Yes.’ Old Bear cleared his throat. ‘Fellows, this is Lotji Bain. He is nephew to Jorgan Bain.’
Orman started, and tensed his grip upon Boarstooth’s haft.
‘I knew your father,’ Lotji told him.
‘You did?’
‘Yes. He visited Bain Hold.’ He pointed to the spear. ‘I see that the whispers are true. Boarstooth — as you call it — has returned to the Holdings.’
‘You cannot challenge upon Sayer lands,’ Old Bear rumbled in warning.
Lotji gave an easy laugh. ‘No.’ He waved Orman to him. ‘However, if you wish to step on to Bain lands I would gladly meet you.’
‘That is not our mission,’ Old Bear quickly cut in.
Orman was relieved. For his part, he had no intention of accepting a challenge from anyone. Not to mention that he’d had no time to practise with the weapon.
Lotji laughed again. It was an easy laugh, but Orman detected a strong grating of iron beneath. ‘As you wish.’ He backed away. ‘We will see one another again, I am sure, Orman Bregin’s son.’ He raised a hand in farewell. ‘Until then.’
They watched him go. As he entered the denser growth another figure stood from cover to one side. Gerrun. Old Bear turned to Orman. He was pulling thoughtfully on his thick tangled beard. ‘Well, Orman,’ he said, low and rumbling. ‘What do you think of that?’
‘I think I need to practise.’
The old man threw his head back and roared with laughter. The echoes boomed out across the valley. He slapped Orman on the back and started off once more. ‘I think we can help you with that, my lad. I truly do.’
Two days later they came to the high valley of the Upper Clearwater. The mountain stream ran milky with run-off from the icefields and snowpack above. It rushed and surged into the valley from the rock cliffs above. The valley itself was long and comparatively flat. The pale-green stream meandered among silt channels and sand bars, chaining and twisting, until it reached the bottom where the valley dropped off through a gap in another ridge line. From there the river continued on its course until eventually, far below, it emptied into the Sea of Gold.
It was cold here and spray seemed suspended in the air, chilling them. Snow lay in the shadows behind rocks and trees. Their feet crunched through thin layers of ice over the soil and compressed snowmelt.
They startled an elk cow and the brothers took off in pursuit, but Gerrun called out that he would stalk it and the brothers returned. Old Bear led them to a long bare gravel bar — a stranded shoreline where the river once ran, bordered by tangled brush. The old man used his spear to push through. They walked the gravel in a crunching of stones. Old Bear paced with hands clasped on his spear behind his back. He was peering down at the rocks as if searching for a particularly pretty one. The brothers and Orman couldn’t help but glance down also.
‘This is it,’ Old Bear announced, gesturing to encompass the stream bed. ‘This valley. This is the richest deposit in the Sayer Holdings. A season’s gathering and sifting here will leave any man rich beyond measure — rich in coin, at any rate.’ He beckoned to Keth and pointed to the rocks with his spear. ‘Here. What do you see?’
Keth knelt, then grunted. He rose examining something in his fingers, and indicating that Orman should hold out his hand. Grinning, he dropped something into the palm.
It was a gold nugget, still wet and half covered in silt. It felt unnaturally heavy for its size. Like a lead sling bullet. Orman was astounded. Without effort Keth had found the largest nugget he’d ever heard of. What more riches might lie hidden here?
He blinked to see Old Bear watching him through his slit eye. The fellow cleared his throat. ‘As you’ve no doubt gathered by now, we serve the Sayers, Gerrun and I. We brought you here to offer you lads a choice.’
He peered off across the valley, squinting. Took a great breath, planted the butt of his spear in the gravel and set both hands upon it. ‘Two paths stand before you. Here, you can collect as much gold as you wish. You can return with it to the townships and be rich men — for a time. Or you can come with me and swear your spear to the Sayers and live defending the Holding — for a time. The choice is yours.’
The Old Bear scanned the valley and what he saw seemed to disgust him. ‘But tell me … do you wish to be a slave to gold? Do you wish to live on your knees scrabbling in the dirt like a dog? For do not fool yourselves: that is what those who are enslaved to gold must do. If not here, then elsewhere. Always chasing after it. Never possessing enough. Grasping, hoarding and fearful for what you do have. Lusting, envious and covetous of what you do not.
‘Or … do you wish to live as a man? Never needing more than the good sword or spear in your hand? Slave to no one or no thing? For all the Sayer require of you is your word and that you swear to live and die by it. Nothing more. For nothing more than that need be asked of a man or woman with honour.’
Still looking away, he asked, ‘What say you?’
Orman glanced to the brothers, who exchanged flat looks. Keth rested his hand on the worn leather-wrapped grip of his sword; Kasson let out a long breath and shifted to a more relaxed stance. Orman realized he was beginning to read the brothers. They would prefer to stay.
He studied the broad valley. How much gold might be hidden here? Shiploads? It was enough to leave him dizzy. Yet somehow it left him unmoved as well. He examined the dull nugget. So much struggle, blood, and scheming spent by those in the towns below just to grasp the barest fistful. A lifetime’s worth of toil and sweat. Yet here it lay scattered about like so much chaff. He could only shake his head at the absurdity of it. So what if he were to descend into Mantle, or the cities beyond such as Holly or Lillin, with a great fat sack at his side? Once word got out he carried such a fortune he’d be dead within the hour. Useless. Utterly useless to him.
The decision, he realized, had been made for him long ago. For he now understood it to be the same one his father had made.
He tossed the nugget back to the gravel bar. ‘I would swear my spear to the Sayers — if they will have it.’
The brothers nodded their agreement.
A broad smile split Old Bear’s craggy features. He slapped Orman on the back with a resounding smack. ‘Good, good! I am glad. Very glad.’ He waved them onward. ‘Come, then. Let us travel higher, to the Hall of the Sayer. You will swear your fealty and we will feast and drink until we pass out.’